Haunted
by AimeeCollins
Summary: (Modern AU, Mergana) In which Morgana is a journalist haunted by ghosts (and migraines). One day, after telling an elderly woman how her son and granddaughter died, she comes home to find a new addition to her "haunted" house: A ghost in funny clothes who calls himself Merlin. Little by little Morgana learns that there's a whole past life that she's never known anything about.
1. Chapter 1

So this is just a little something that wouldn't leave my mind. I decided to write it, but I'm not sure if I'm going to continue this. I had fun, though. So for some time, it'll probably just be a one-shot, unless I chance my mind and suddenly write three chapters in a row.

Enjoy and tell me what you think!

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**HAUNTED: ONE**

For a few seconds, Morgana could only stare at the young girl that stood in front of her bed. The young girl was pale as a sheet, but her cheeks were just a bit rosy… but not in a natural way: they looked like slight bruises. Her hair was black and reached down her shoulders in shiny waves. Her bangs hung over her eyes slightly, but the most upsetting part, the part which made Morgana scream were her eyes. Her eyes were black, pitch-black. The area underneath them was even more unsettling: a trail of blood, which looked like it had only just dried up, marred her skin. Her face was slightly bowed, which caused her to look up at Morgana in a frightening manner: her lips were pulled in a smirk that promised nothing but torment and pain. Morgana screamed and clutched her thick, brown covers against her chest as if that would protect her from this monstrosity.

Then, when she realized that the girl looked familiar, and finally remembered who – or rather _what_ – the girl was, she relaxed. The girl's face looked the same every day, she wore the same ragged, dirty dress every day, she stared the same way every day and even after sixteen years, she still hadn't said a word.

'Rose!' Morgana snapped, causing the girl to look up at her. The unnatural black eyes just went right through her and Morgana shivered without wanting to.  
'I told you not to stand there when I…' then, her eyes fell on the alarm clock on the artistically curved nightstand next to her bed.  
'Should've been at work thirty minutes ago! Thanks, Rose!' she said, before she jumped into the shower. She barely saw the bearded old man that was kicking the lamp in the hallway with his walking stick, while she rushed past him, clothed in something random that she'd snatched out of her closet.

'Bye Grandpa!' she yelled, before she slammed the door shut and ducked into her car.

Morgana had seen ghosts nearly her entire life – which, at 22, wasn't really _that_ long -, but the old man with his walking stick was a new addition to her house. He'd shown up one morning, walking straight through her front door and proceeded to kick the lamp in the hallway. Sometimes she could hear him shout things, but he spoke in a language that she _thought_ was German, or at least something similar. Rose, as Morgana had taken on calling the child in her bedroom, had been with her since she'd been 6. Morgana remembered playing with her in the forest behind her backyard. Sometimes she wondered how the girl's appearance hadn't startled her – I mean, she looked like she'd been _murdered_. Morgana had actually considered calling her Bloody Mary, but had settled with Rose instead, out of fear of summoning the _actual_ Bloody Mary – if she even existed, that is. One scary young girl was enough.

When she locked her car and was about to make her way to her office, Morgana forced herself to stop. She looked down at herself and was pleased: she wore a knitted white long-sleeved T-shirt, dark skinny jeans and – thank the Lord –_ matching_ black boots. Then she realized that she hadn't put on any make-up in her haste, and unlocked her shiny black Mercedes again. She rummaged through the car and couldn't help but 'Ha!' triumphantly when she found her make-up kit. When she was finally done, she threw it back into the car, not caring where it landed, and dashed into the office.

'Hey, Melinda!' Davis, her co-worker, yelled at her. Morgana gave him a death glare before she closed the door behind her. Since her boss's wife had died and Morgana had helped him find the documents listing how she wanted to be buried, her co-workers had nicknamed her "Melinda", after Melinda Gordon from "Ghost Whisperer". Morgana had never watched the show back then, and she'd been puzzled until her best friend (with benefits, occasionally) had Googled the show and forced her to watch. She'd scoffed at the show: it wasn't like real life at all.

'Sorry I'm late, Roland.' she said to her boss apologetically, when she joined the line in front of the coffee machine. Roland turned around and winked at her, something which she'd come to understand meant: "_Don't worry, you're forgiven."_ But sometimes it also meant: "_Sorry, can't function without coffee, come back later and try again, please_." so that didn't say much. She grabbed her own espresso and scolded at her rumbling stomach.

_I'll get a muffin or donut later, be quiet._ she thought to her stomach sternly, while she peeked at it with burning eyes. Finally, after dodging co-worker after co-worker, she plopped down at her desk and clicked on her agenda. Usually, her secretary would handle her agenda and she wouldn't know what appointments she had until she looked… like now.

_Crap!_ she thought. Her espresso almost spilled on her desk as she put it down harshly – too harshly. Apparently she had an appointment in half an hour, and the drive _to_ said appointment would take her forty-five minutes! She hastily called her appointee to explain that, due to unfortunate circumstances (which, she hoped, her appointee wouldn't inquire about once she was there), she would be late. Luckily, the woman on the other end of the phone didn't seem to mind.

Morgana hopped into her car again, hitting the gas like the devil was on her tail. She stopped only to buy a muffin on the way and ate it while driving. _Sorry Tom, I know that's bad._ she thought, when she remembered the flustered teen boy who she'd met after he'd died in a car-accident. He'd been eating while driving, though also wearing a headphone, in Morgana's defence. All he'd wanted her to do was make sure that his dog, a gigantic Rottweiler, got taken care of before he was adopted by someone else.

So Morgana, despite being a bit intimated by the Rottweiler, had asked Tom's family if she could foster it, so he wouldn't have to end up in a pound. For some reason – which became clear when the dog had terrorized her curtains, couch and other furniture, Tom was deeply afraid that his dog would be put down if he ended up in a pound.

Morgana _had_ asked him if he didn't want her to talk to his family, for his mother especially had seemed heartbroken by the death of her son, but all Tom had been worried about was his _dog_. When she'd trained the dog – or rather, scolded at him every time he destroyed something – and it had been adopted, Tom had abruptly vanished. Morgana had never seen him again after that.

She suddenly realized that she had no idea what the appointment was about. Her agenda hadn't said anything other than the time and the street that she had to be in. When she arrived, she locked the car and smoothed her shirt and brushed some crumbs off. Then, after she'd brushed through her hair with her fingers, she walked toward the house.

It was an ordinary house, not very big, but it still looked picturesque with its red bricks and brightly coloured windowpanes. Still, when Morgana came closer to it, she saw a middle-aged man on a swing-set in the front yard, with a six or seven year old girl next to him. They were both dressed lightly, as if it was Summer already, the man in a short-sleeved T-shirt and short trousers and the girl in a pink summer dress. The girl waved at her enthusiastically and the man smiled at her. Morgana smiled and waved back, causing the girl to laugh in enjoyment.

The door was opened before Morgana had a chance to knock, and she lowered her fist in surprise before she would accidentally knock on the woman's face. She was an elderly woman, although she still looked bright and fit. Her blue eyes, albeit watery, shone with excitement and relief when she saw Morgana, but Morgana had no idea why.

'It's really true! You saw my Martin and Alison! Oh praise the Lord!' the woman said loudly, which startled Morgana a bit. Immediately Morgana understood what was going on. The man and child in the front yard were deceased family members, probably the woman's son and granddaughter. Morgana smiled at the woman, feeling a bit uneasy. She wasn't a ghost whisperer, or a medium! She was a journalist!

Granted, she did sometimes make use of her "gifts" when it came to gathering information – someone who was in for mischief and could float through walls really came in handy from time to time – but she by no means wanted to make a career out of it. She assumed that one of her co-workers knew the woman, or had at least heard about her deceased loved ones and had decided to send Morgana to her.

'Come in, come in.' the woman ushered Morgana inside and Morgana had no other option than to obey – she couldn't just leave the old woman after she'd just found out that there was a way to communicate with the dead!

The house itself looked minimalistic, but well-furnished on the inside. Morgana couldn't help but smile when she saw the old-fashioned wallpaper on the wall, and the rather old looking carpet on the floor. The woman went to make some tea – and Morgana was sure that she heard a biscuit can being opened – while Morgana sat down on the couch softly, as to not tear the old leather with the buttons on her jeans. Immediately a fat brown cat jumped on her lap and laid down, purring rather contently. Morgana busied herself with scratching him – she wasn't sure, but the cat looked like a he – behind his ears.

'Oh!' the woman said in surprise, when she saw Morgana on the couch. For a few seconds Morgana wondered what was wrong, until she realized that – to the woman – it probably looked like she was scratching _air._ She chuckled uneasily.

'Erhm… you had a nice… cat…?' Morgana muttered lamely, feeling her cheeks warm in shame. She couldn't help it, though: whenever ghosts were near her it seemed as if they were almost _human_, apart from floating or walking through walls. Grandpa in her apartment actually hit the lamp with his walking stick, the many dents in the plastic were proof of it, and she often caught Rose leaning against something like she was just a girl chilling out. And not all ghosts preferred to float, either: others just walked.

'Yes, yes...' the woman muttered, more to herself it seemed. 'His name was Fatty.' Morgana looked at the woman, slightly confused.  
'Alison called him that, because he was a bit too heavy. He got run over by a car, poor thing.' the woman explained while she put down a tray of biscuits on the table, next to a hot cup of tea. Morgana gratefully devoured a few biscuits, before she remembered to be polite and stopped munching like she was starving.

'My name is Morgana. I'm sorry for not introducing myself.' Morgana apologized. The woman laughed and shook her hand with a surprisingly strong grasp for an old woman.

'I'm Ellen.' the woman introduced herself.  
'I'm one of Ronald's friends.' she added, as if that explained everything.

Morgana nodded and silently cursed her boss in her mind. Although she wasn't socially handicapped or anything, she didn't feel comfortable talking to strangers, especially when they wanted her to talk to their dead family members. She wished that Ronald had told her about the woman, so she'd had the time to look up how they died. Not because the deceased family members couldn't tell her that – although sometimes they were very confused, had no idea how they died, or didn't even know they _had_ died -, but because she could've mentally prepared herself for a very emotional talk that way.

While Morgana was cursing her boss, Ellen looked around curiously, almost anxiously, as if she expected furniture suddenly moving or things to start floating around in the air. Morgana saw it and didn't know whether she had to smile or feel sad.  
'They're not here.' she said. 'They're outside, on the swing set.' she added hastily, when Ellen looked disappointed and sad. Upon hearing that, Ellen suddenly beamed and her eyes became watery.

'Alison did love that swing set. She would pester her father about it all the time, demanding that he'd swing her or join her.' the woman said, her eyes staring off in the distance as if she saw her memories play out in front of her. Ellen grabbed her own tea and the biscuit tray and gestured for them to go to the front yard. Morgana was somewhat relieved that Ellen would be joining her: sometimes she'd be talking to a ghost without noticing it and people would look at her strangely. Of course they thought that she was delusional or crazy, but sometimes someone would nod at her, as if they understood. Morgana was never sure whether they just emphasized with the strange woman that talked to the air or if they saw the ghosts that she was actually talking to.

Sometimes Morgana thought that it was strange that she'd never met someone who had the same gifts as her. Most of the mediums she heard about were frauds. One of them, though, seemed to sense something around him. Perhaps he could feel the ghost's emotions, or tap into their memories, instead of seeing and talking to them? Morgana hadn't had a chance to talk to him, though, because ironically he'd died before she could ever get close to him.

Morgana and Ellen sat down at a picnic table a few metres away from the swing set.  
'Can you talk to them?' Ellen asked breathlessly, her blue eyes watery and wide, her greying hair falling down her face. Morgana nodded and abruptly turned toward the father and child, still on the swing set.

'Oh, good, finally someone who _sees_ me.' the man, Martin, said sounding almost amused. Morgana smiled at him.

'Miss, can you please swing me? Pleeeaaaase, pleeeaaasee?' Alison begged. She laughed at her own behaviour, even though Martin shook his head.  
'Ally, this woman is here to talk to Grandma and us, not to swing you.' he said in a fatherly manner, even though his words were softened by a bright smile of affection. Morgana laughed and walked to the swing set, feeling Ellen's eyes following her.

Morgana figured that, since Martin was happy that she could see them, she might just as well amuse Alison while they talked. The girl probably hadn't been swung in some time. In the back of her mind, she realized that Martin was a good father and a nice guy, and was somewhat sorry that she'd never met him when he was alive.

'Tell me, what's the last thing you remember?' Morgana asked Martin carefully. She didn't want him to get angry, even though he couldn't really do any harm. If anything, he could do what living people could do. Ghosts didn't have superpowers or anything: they couldn't make anything float, they couldn't set fire to something (without matches, that is) or do whatever else the horror movies suggested they could.

Martin frowned deeply, but Morgana could see in the way that he grew pale that he remembered _exactly _what had happened.  
'The plane. It went up and down, up and down and everyone was starting to get worried. The pilot informed us that there was nothing to be worried about and that we should buckle our seatbelts because of the turbulence, and then…' his voice broke at that point, and he stared right through Morgana, as if he were back in the moment.

Probably without realizing it, Martin laid his hand on the rope of the swing set to stop it, and pulled his daughter on his lap, clutching her to him tightly. He'd probably done the same in the plane, Morgana realized.

'Bright lights, someone screaming. I think I saw an engine catch fire. After that… well, just a mess of melting things and pain and screams, until I suddenly didn't feel anything anymore.' Martin said, almost apologetically, shrugging his shoulders.

'That's okay.' Morgana said.

'Don't tell her!' Martin suddenly said. Morgana understood that he didn't want his mother to know the painful details and turned to Ellen.  
'He said that the engine of the plane caught fire. He remembers the plane crashing, but nothing after that.' Morgana said, figuring that it was true, albeit she was leaving out the pain and terror that Martin must've obviously felt.

'Oh, my poor little boy! Ally!' the woman cried as tears ran down her cheeks, leaving wet streaks in their wake. Morgana blinked heavily, as always when someone got emotional when they heard something from their loved ones through Morgana. She sighed, excused herself, and quickly walked back into the house. An old man wearing a kilt and a hat floated through a door and smiled at her.

'The toilet's that way, lass.' Morgana strained to understand through his thick Scottish accent. She muttered a thank you and hastily disappeared into the bathroom. After she'd splashed cold water on her face and fixed her make-up, she held her chin up high and went back to Ellen, Martin and Alison.

X.x.X HAUNTED X.x.X

'Hi.' a perky voice said when Morgana closed the door behind her. She jumped, startled and turned around quicker than a whirlwind. The rather comical sight of Grandpa kicking against a strange man's foot with his walking stick greeted her. Immediately, Morgana realized that this must be a very _very_ old ghost. He wasn't dressed in clothes that looked even a bit modern, not even a WWI army suit, but just… He looked like he'd walked out of a fairy-tale book!

He wore trousers that were made of a thick, brown fabric. She guessed that it was cotton, or something similar. His bright red shirt – no, more of a tunic really – looked faded and worn and was obviously made from poor quality fabric. She'd never seen anyone wear that… _thing_ that he wore around his neck. It looked like a red bandana, minus the white spots, only… around his _neck_. Morgana blinked, once, twice, and then let herself fall down on a chair and laid her head in her hands, groaning.

She counted to ten very softly, in hopes that he'd disappear when she looked up again, but he was still _there_ when she was done. Even more so, he looked at her with an expression that confused her. His blue eyes shone with amusement, but he also looked worried. And his lips were pulled in a tight line, like he wasn't amused at all.

'I'm going to be stuck with you, aren't I?' Morgana asked him sarcastically. The man's lips tugged up at that one. He completely ignored Grandpa, or maybe he wasn't a ghost at all and couldn't see the old man. Suddenly, Morgana realized just how easily someone could pull a prank on her, or worse, get into her house and rape or kill her without her even suspecting a thing. Alarmed, she got up out of her chair and took a step back.

'Prove to me that you're a ghost.' she said, the words escaping her mouth before she could stop them. What she was asking him was insane: with her around, he couldn't fall through anything. But the man smiled, his blue eyes flashed gold, and then Grandpa's walking stick suddenly appeared in his hands. Grandpa grumbled something and seemed deeply upset over the loss of his kicking tool, but Morgana was too busy staring at the strange new ghost to notice it.

Ghosts shouldn't be able to do that. All her life, Morgana felt safe knowing that they couldn't do more than a living human could do. And now, this man proved her that he _could_ make things disappear and re-appear, like all the horror-movies that she'd never watched (but heard about) suggested they could.

Morgana screamed, stormed into her room and locked the door. Apparently she'd startled Rose, because the young girl glared at her angrily.

Too late, Morgana realized that a locked door couldn't stop _any_ ghost. She could only watch in horror when she heard the door being unlocked. For a few seconds she was convinced that this man wasn't a ghost, that he would open the door and slit her throat with one of her kitchen knives… but then he walked right through the door and looked at her, his expression confused and worried. Morgana actually sighed in relief, and before she knew it, she was laughing out loud at her own fear.

'Uhm… Sorry Morgana. I didn't mean to scare you.' the stranger said. Immediately, Morgana stopped laughing. She stared at the stranger.

'How… How do you know my name?' she asked, utterly confused and lost now. He looked at her strangely. His mouth opened a few times, like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

'Are you saying you don't… _remember_ me?' he asked, finally. Morgana raised her eyebrows and looked at him like he was insane.

'Of course I don't remember you!' she said, as if it was obvious. 'You're not from my time!' this caused the man to frown even deeper. Morgana wondered if she looked like someone that he'd known in his time. Perhaps he was so old that he got confused sometimes?

'But I thought… Since you can see us, that you'd remember everything.' the man said, sounding completely and utterly lost. Despite the fact that she didn't know him, she felt bad for him.

'Remember what?' she asked with fake curiosity. She'd decided to just go with it and hope that he'd leave to find his _actual_… sister/friend/girlfriend/wife/whatever the hell he thought she was.

The man laid his hand on Morgana's small closet, as if he were seeking for support.

'I… Your…Your past life.' the man said finally, hesitantly. Morgana frowned. She had not expected _that_. So was that what happened to the ghosts that Morgana never saw back? They reincarnated?

Morgana leaned against her bedside, looked up at the strange ghost and frowned even deeper. She felt a headache coming up and she rubbed her forehead absentmindedly, as if that would make it go away.

'Listen, eh…' Morgana said, but then stalled as she had no idea what the ghost's name was.  
'Merlin.' the man said cheerfully. _Merlin?_ Morgana wondered. _As in the Arthurian legends? This must be some kind of a joke._ Most likely, the ghost had forgotten his name and made up a new one. He'd probably hoped that naming himself Merlin would make her feel more at ease, since her name was Morgana. It didn't work at all.

'Merlin, then. I have to get dressed, I'm going to eat out with my friend. We can talk later, if you're still here when I get back, I guess.' she explained. "Merlin" nodded cheerfully and took a step to the side to let Morgana pass. Forcing herself to forget about the new ghost, she exited her bedroom and rummaged through a few forgotten plastic bags. Finally, she found the new pretty green dress that she'd bought for the occasion and ran back into her bedroom to put it on. Merlin wasn't there when she looked around, and she felt glad. She couldn't help but chuckle when she saw that Rose had floated up to the ceiling like a girl-shaped balloon. _My life is a crazy mess. _she thought to herself.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to everyone who decided to review and/or favorite/follow my story! I decided to try and make it a story, though I'm not sure how to add any action or angst or anything - and I don't like sappy romance stories either. I'm kinda stuck since Merlin is, well, _dead. _But at the same time that's the main mystery in the story - how did he die? Why didn't he reincarnate? What happened to Arthur? etc. etc.

Enjoy!

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**HAUNTED: TWO**

Morgana ducked into her car ten minutes late: somehow, no matter how early she'd get ready, she'd always manage to be late. She hoped that Jamie would wait for her, instead of going into the restaurant on his own. Last time something like that had happened, her date had decided to order something for her. Which just happened to be something she'd been allergic to: Morgana had spent the rest of the evening in bed after a cold shower, frantically scratching her legs and arms until they were bright red. She shuddered involuntarily when she thought about that.

Luckily, Jamie was still outside the restaurant waiting for her. Morgana hastily exited her car, almost tripped over her dress, and managed to walk right through a puddle of muddy water, causing brown droplets to splash on the hem of her dress. She barely managed to contain herself as she saw this, for she'd wanted to stomp angrily like a child, pulling at her hair in despair. Instead she pretended like she hadn't noticed it, or at least wasn't affected by it, and made her way to Jamie with a big smile on her face.

'Hey babe!' Jamie said enthusiastically, when she'd finally reached him. He was taller than her, so she had to stand on her toes and _he_ had to sink through his knees a bit, so he could give her a kiss. When she wanted to take a step back, she stumbled and Jamie narrowly caught her before she'd fall down in the puddle that she'd previously walked through. Morgana groaned about her own clumsiness and Jamie laughed.

'Come on. I got them to hold the table for us, but if we wait any longer we might find needles on our chairs.' he said with a laugh. Morgana grimaced, thinking of sitting down unsuspectingly on pointy needles. It sounded like something a ghost trying to be funny would do, and she could only hope that there weren't any nearby. _I'm _so_ going to check every chair when I get home_. Morgana thought when Jamie ushered her inside.

Morgana liked Jamie. He was a good friend, and occasionally more than that, and he was surprisingly understanding about her ability to see ghosts. They'd met years ago, when Morgana first moved in to her apartment after getting a job as journalist: he'd been one of the movers. Jamie had asked for her phone number and called a day later, asking her out on a date.

Despite their dating history Morgana didn't feel like she should settle down yet. Luckily Jamie understood, even more so because he liked the occasional contact with other women. And then there was the problem of her house being haunted: not many men felt comfortable in her house or bed, not knowing whether they were being watched or not. Morgana dreaded the day that a deceased porn-movie maker would show up at her house. She shuddered at the thought alone.

Of course, she could move in with a boyfriend, if she ever did feel the need to settle. She'd just have to lie about the ghosts that would move in _with_ her. And ignore Grandpa kicking things with his walking stick, and pretend that she didn't see Rose staring at her like a mad Poltergeist.

Jamie, like the gentleman he acted like sometimes, shoved back Morgana's chair and gestured for her to get in. Morgana laughed and took her seat. The menu's came and she studied it carefully, eyes on alert for anything that she was allergic to. Luckily, the restaurant was Morgana-friendly and she could order something that she actually _enjoyed_ to eat.

'So, how're things going with your dad?' Jamie asked curiously. Morgana's fork hung frozen in the air as she stared at him.  
'Uh… it's going well. He's still in Iraq, but he'll have leave in a few weeks, so he can see Mom.' Morgana said, after she'd swallowed her bite of food that suddenly felt very dry and tasteless.

General Uther, as her father often referred to himself jokingly, seemed to live for war and war alone. His hair was always military-style short, his face was always grim and frowned, and his eyes almost always narrowed. The only people he seemed to smile at were his wife - err, ex-wife - Isabel, and his friend-in-combat Gorlois. Who just happened to be Morgana's stepfather. Ouch.

Isabel had filed for divorce after she'd found out that Uther had had an affair with a female soldier during the war. And Gorlois, who'd always had an eye for the pretty brunette, had taken his leave immediately to comfort her. Which, of course, involved revenge-sex. Uther didn't know a thing about the affair, though. He just thought that Isabel wanted to divorce Uther because he was never there to take care of his family.

It was that assumption which drove Gorlois to switch jobs. Instead of being an active soldier, he was re-stationed at an office closer to home. Isabel and Gorlois married a few years after, without Uther knowing a thing about it. When Uther came home, he pleaded for his ex-wives' forgiveness, but of course never got it. For Morgana's sake, they pretended that they'd made up and were friends, something which Morgana easily saw through. But she liked Gorlois: he took time to play games with her, he'd allow her to sit on his lap – something which Uther never did – and overall he was just a natural parent.

Morgana had always suspected that something was off about her Dad's parenting skills, and her suspicion was confirmed when Uther – in a fit of a rage – yelled at her that he'd never wanted children. For a second, Morgana had wondered about the use of plural, but then decided that she didn't care, packed her bags and left to live on her own.

'And how's Isabel?' Jamie inquired. Morgana beamed upon hearing her mother's name. She had a very close relationship with her mother, and Isabel – and Gorlois, too – knew about her ability to see ghosts and were fine with it. Uther on the other hand thought that she was delusional or pretending, seeking for attention.

'Mom's doing fine. She called me just yesterday to tell me that she'd sold five more paintings.' Morgana beamed. Her mother was artistic. She painted, wrote and drew all day long. When Morgana was little, she'd had a low-paying job at an administrative office, but later she'd finally been able to start her own business. She painted portraits, animals, nature scenes and what-not. Unfortunately, Morgana hadn't inherited her talents – she could only write well enough to write articles.

'That's great! Hey, Carl called and asked me if you wanted to come over tomorrow – we're watching the baseball game. He almost _begged _me to ask you if you could make the snacks.' Jamie said with a big smile on his face. Morgana laughed at his eager expression - she was sure that he would've been drooling over the thought of her snacks if they hadn't been in a restaurant.

'Hmm… Maybe I will. But maybe not.' Morgana said teasingly. Jamie stared at her in fake horror, his eyes wide open and his jaw hanging.

'But… but… your snacks are the most greatest in the world!' he said desperately. 'Our guys won't win without your snacks!'

Several people looked their ways. Morgana chuckled about his use of "most greatest" and ducked her head in embarrassment

'Okay, okay. Fine. You'll get your snacks.' Morgana said, because she couldn't bear looking at his big round sad eyes anymore.

**X.x.X HAUNTED X.x.X**

Right before Morgana and Jamie nearly tripped over the threshold to Jamie's house, a ghost appeared in the crammed hallway. It was a tall, slim blonde. At first glance, Morgana thought that she'd dip-dyed her hair dark red before she'd died, but when she froze and stared at the ghost, she realized that it wasn't a dye. It was _blood_.

'Hey,' Jamie said, obviously displeased that Morgana had stopped kissing him. 'What're you looking at?' he asked, while he pretended to peek over her shoulder, even though he was taller than her. Morgana opened her mouth to answer, but then stopped.

Her mind jumped to assumption after assumption, until she stopped her reeling mind. Ghosts popped up randomly _everywhere_. Morgana had even seen bloodied and bruised ghosts at the _dentist._ Thinking that they'd been murdered by the man that advised Morgana on what toothbrush and toothpaste was best to use was just paranoid.

'Am I being haunted?' Jamie asked, a slightly nervous chuckle following soon after. Morgana turned around and look him in the eye. He looked back at her, fake fear and despair etched on his face. _Nah, he couldn't hurt a fly_. She shook her head, laughed and launched herself at him for a surprise kiss-attack.

The ghost had probably lived here before: Jamie's house was pretty small and old, with antique tables and chairs still reigning the room. Or she'd just randomly decided to float through houses, looking for something to chase away the boredom of being a ghost.

**X.x.X HAUNTED X.x.X**

The first thing that Morgana did when she get home was wonder where Grandpa was. The elderly ghost wasn't in the hallway kicking the lamp as usual, which for some reason concerned Morgana. Making as little sound as possible, she opened the door to the living room, cringing when it creaked. _I should really oil that thing sometime. _she thought.

The living room was empty, too. It wasn't unusual for ghosts to leave a place after some time, but she hadn't missed Grandpa once. And Rose seemed to enjoy floating above furniture and playing a game that Morgana had dubbed: "Let's see how quick I can float to the ceiling!". Admittedly, the name was a little too long, but that wasn't important right now.

She tip-toed into her bedroom and almost freaked out. Rose wasn't there! 'Rose? Rose!' Morgana yelled, but of course she didn't get a reply. In the sixteen years that Rose had haunted her, the little girl hadn't said a word. And why was she freaking out over a missing ghost, anyway? When she'd been a teenager, she had wanted nothing more than for the ghosts to go away – some of them distracted her in class, others made her trip in the hallways, and one mysterious ghost had wracked her locker once – and now she felt bad because she couldn't find any.

Then she heard the laughter.

Morgana's head snapped to the curtains that hung in front of the door to her large balcony. She pulled the curtains to the side and nearly laughed in relief when she saw that all 'her' ghosts were there. She frowned when she saw what was going on.

The laughter that she'd heard came from _Rose_. The little girl threw back her head and laughed at… something. Morgana pulled back the curtain further and saw Merlin balancing on the railing like a cord-dancer. He managed to remain standing, and when he saw her he smiled and waved, almost losing his balance. He flailed with his arms clumsily to regain balance. Grandpa was kicking a pot with a deceased plant in it, shouting something. Morgana couldn't help but smile and opened the door, only to be whipped by the cold wind immediately after stepping outside.

'Hey! Where were you? We were starting to get worried!' Merlin yelled cheerfully over the raging wind. Morgana doubted that this was true: as far as she knew Rose never displayed emotion and Grandpa didn't speak any English. Unless Merlin knew German, he probably couldn't communicate with Grandpa, despite his thick accent that sometime sounded suspiciously much like _Old-English_. Not that Morgana knew any Old-English herself, it was just a guess.

'Of course.' Morgana said sarcastically. Merlin didn't seem to get the sarcasm, though: he just smiled at her.  
'I was at Jamie's.' she said. Did she imagine it, or did Merlin's smile actually fade a little? His smile was back so quickly though, that Morgana decided that she'd just imagined it.

'Well, at least you're back now. Look at what I can- _crap!_' Merlin lost his balance and fell off the railing. He tried to grab the railing but his fingers just slid off the round surface. Morgana almost dashed forward in an attempt to grab him, worried that he'd fall on the ground and break something, until she remembered that he was a ghost and just waved at him. It was strange. How could she have forgotten that Merlin was a ghost? He wore clothes that looked like they came out of the Dark Ages. His name was _Merlin_ for God's sake! And yet she'd almost believed that he'd fall and fracture his skull or something.

'Oh, great. I fall and you just wave at me with a smirk on your face.' Merlin's muffled voice said from somewhere just below the balcony. Morgana leaned over it, wondering where he was, until…

'Ouch!' Morgana and Merlin yelled simultaneously, as their heads banged against each other. Merlin forgot to float and dropped out of the sky like a brick and Morgana stumbled backward and leaned against the wall, while rubbing her forehead.

This wasn't new for Morgana, though: Ghosts could touch her. Just her, not anyone else, as far as she knew. Some of them enjoyed making her trip or fall for no apparent reason. Others liked the pinch her in the arm just as she was talking to someone, causing her to squeal in surprise. She always said that she got bit by a mosquito or something, even if it was the middle of Winter.

'Are you away from the railing?' Merlin yelled. Morgana couldn't help but grin a little and yelled 'Yes!' back. Soon enough, Merlin floated back and pretended to jump over the railing, break-dance style. With his clothes and cheery demeanour, it just looked ridiculous. Morgana tried to hold back giggled, but she failed. Merlin glared at her.  
'I'm offended.' he said, his lips pursed. I just looked and sounded even more ridiculous, causing Morgana to break out in a laughing-fit.

Merlin eventually shook his head and floated through the opened door, Rose following him closely. Morgana looked at the stars for a few minutes, before she stepped back into her bedroom and locked the door.

**X.x.X HAUNTED X.x.X**

The next morning, when Morgana went to work, Grandpa was back in the hallway. Only this time he was shouting German words at her ceiling. Morgana frowned, tried to understand what he was saying, failed, and left her apartment and closed the door behind her.

She almost shrieked when she saw a stranger in the passenger seat of her Mercedes. She _had_ locked the car, right?! But then again, if someone wanted to steal her car, why sit on the passenger seat? Confused, she advanced on her car. She didn't know whether she had to laugh or glare when she recognized the man.

'Merlin, what the _hell_ are you doing in my car?' Morgana asked, after she'd opened the door and plopped into her seat. Merlin looked at her with an exaggerated innocent expression on his face.

'I just want to see where you work.' Merlin said, pouting. 'Can I come? Please? Please, pl-'

'Shut up!' Morgana snapped, a bit too harshly. She flashed him a smile to soften it.

'Sorry. I'm not feeling that well. Headache.' she muttered while she started the car and started driving.

'Try rosemary tea or oil. You can rub the oil on your temples when you feel a headache coming up.' Merlin said. Morgana looked at him, her jaw hanging ajar for a moment. He noticed her baffled look and shrugged.

'I learnt a thing or two when I was alive.' he said. Morgana muttered something under her breath and ignored Merlin until she got to her office. She stopped the car and turned the engine off, but didn't get out yet. Instead, she turned to Merlin and looked at him sternly.

'Don't follow me around. Don't make my co-workers trip. Stay off the heating, don't open doors, don't touch anything, and _do not_ write on the whiteboard!'

Merlin nodded, seemingly a little frightened by her sternness and floated out of the car. Morgana sighed and climbed out herself. She really hoped that Merlin would behave, but she'd never had a ghost in her office - apparently, ghosts either avoided journalists or just hated offices – so she had no idea how this was going to work out.


End file.
